Accidental Butterflies
by storytellers
Summary: Basil Hallward loved Dorian Gray. Did anyone love Basil? Basil/Dorian and Basil/OC, mostly movie.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer:**__The novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" belongs to Oscar Wilde. The 2009 movie "Dorian Gray" belongs to Momentum Pictures. I claim to be neither and I am making no profit. However, Roderick Lewin belongs to me so yay.

**Warning:** This fic is slash. Not explicit, not dirty, but still slash. As in 'male/male romantic relationship' and not 'cutting something open'. I very much doubt that there are any Dorian Gray fans who have a big problem with that, but if by chance you happen to be offended by such things, proceed no further.

**Author's Note:** This is inspired mostly by the movie because I like some characters and events better but it does have some elements from the book. People who have not seen the movie can still read it, although you may be a little confused about what's going on at times. I think the major differences are:

Sybil does not act quite as smacked-over-the-head as she does in the book. She's a rather normal young girl but she's stupid enough to actually sleep with Dorian and land herself pregnant. That hardly has a chance to become relevant though. She never screws-up her performance but Henry and Dorian get… sort of distracted on their way to the theatre way so they miss it, which leads to a fight between Sybil and Dorian. Next thing we know, she's drowned herself. I thought that was a bit over the top since Dorian never really broke-up with her but oh, well. Also, Basil is not quite as submissive here either. He is not at all happy about Dorian's engagement and shows it. He actually refuses to go and see the girl perform.

Basil gets killed quite a bit earlier. Within a year of meeting Dorian, I think. On that same night he and Dorian share a brief moment of intimacy, as Dorian is trying to distract him from asking about the portrait.

This is the first part of a trilogy but don't let that worry you – I have made it a point for a while now to only post stuff that is finished, so this fic is complete, as well as its sequel. You won't have to wait long for an update. However, I must ask you to please leave some feedback, as that's the only satisfaction we authors get from sweating over the keyboard ;P.

_**Accidental Butterflies**_

_**Introduction**_

Basil Hallward was having a hard time fighting down his frustration.

There was Dorian. There was the portrait. There was Harry, robbing him of Dorian's presence day by day and word by word…

And then there was Rody – a component which did not quite fit with the others.

Roderick Lewin was a young man of considerable intelligence and less considerable artistic talent. He was the son of Meryl Lewin, whose husband – a renowned doctor – had passed away a few years back. The widow was a good friend of Basil's and, as such, had managed to wrestle a promise out of him to tutor her son. He had been apprehensive at first, not thinking much of young Mr. Lewin's ability. But it had quickly become apparent that what Rody lacked in talent, he made up for in originality and enthusiasm. On certain days he could not seem to be able to paint a decent-looking flower to save his life. But that was exactly where his inventiveness began. Blurry and messy images turned into reflections in water and strange-looking flowers became even stranger-looking but rather unique butterflies. He made it all seem deliberate and it made for some interesting pictures. And if they weren't masterpieces, they were at least becoming increasingly better with Basil's tutelage. With all this creativity and his charming manners, Basil normally considered Roderick Lewin more than pleasant company. But now there was Dorian and Dorian was…everything.

Basil was well aware that he was becoming obsessed with the youth but he couldn't help it. Such exquisite beauty! He had been captured from the moment he had laid eyes on him. The blush on his cheeks, the curve of his lips… Dorian was an angel. The painter felt as if he had stumbled upon a treasure and he was reluctant to share it.

Introducing him to Harry had been a mistake but it had also been unavoidable. The problem was that Henry Watton was an enigmatic man. More so than Basil could ever hope to be. And young, innocent, impressionable Dorian had taken to him like a fish to water, much to Basil's concern.

All in all, between his student and his old friend, Basil could hardly ever get a minute with Dorian alone.

Harry wasn't there today but Rody was. Rody was always there while Dorian's portrait was being painted. He was the only person Basil was allowing to look at it before it was finished. After all, he wouldn't be much of a teacher if he didn't demonstrate the process.

Suddenly, there was a burst of laughter and the painter lifted his eyes from the canvas, startled as Dorian's melodic voice filled the room. He was laughing at something Rody had said. Basil felt a small, ridiculous stab of jealousy as he watched the two young men converse. Rody was quite handsome, although not the gleaming, startling beauty that was Dorian. His hair was a warm red-brown colour, reminiscent of autumn leaves. His eyes were a lighter brown than Basil's and his skin was slightly more tanned than was normal for England. God knew where he managed to get so much sun but it was an interesting contrast to Dorian's gentle, pale complexion. Basil noticed the two were studying each other with obvious interest and appreciation. The small stab of jealousy threatened to turn into something more. He immediately chastised himself, appalled by his own possessiveness.

It was horrible, really. He realized that even if he was to keep Dorian locked in a room with no one but him for company, his affections would most likely still not be returned in the same way. And yet… Well, one couldn't help but hope for a miracle. Especially when one was so deeply in love. Although, he thought as he watched the object of his obsession, he wasn't entirely sure what he was in love with – the man or the muse that Dorian was.

He turned his attention back to the painting, tracing the delicate lips gently with his brush while the two younger men argued over something.

"Come on, Rody, won't you at least tell me how it looks?" came Dorian's plea from across the room.

Rody rolled his eyes and stood from his seat, setting aside the sketchbook where he had been doodling one thing or another.

"You are absolutely forbidden to say anything!" Basil warned him when he felt him leaning over his shoulder to look at the picture.

"Oh, come on, Basil!" Dorian whined.

"All I will say is that he has captured you exceptionally well," Rody declared. "By which I mean it's hideous."

Once again laughter. Basil let his lips curl up. After all, these were both people he was fond of. It wouldn't do to sulk just because they were having a good time. He lifted the brush again and accidentally bumped into Rody's hand. A few drops of paint landed on the picture. He sighed in frustration.

"Now see what you made me do. I messed up the background. Thank God it's only the background. I'll have to cover with new paint and the do the shadows again."

Rody rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Basil. Do you have to be such a perfectionist? It's just three microscopic black spots on a dark green curtain, it's not like anybody is going to notice. It might have been eaten by moths. It makes it more real, if anything."

Basil shook his head, laughing in spite of himself.

"I'm not sure Dorian would want to be painted in front of a moth-eaten curtain. And it is quite clear that the spots are not meant to be there. If I don't fix them, my work will look sloppy."

"Oh, fiddlesticks! But all right then, forgive me my clumsiness, dear teacher, and let me fix it."

Basil gave him a rather skeptical look but Rody persisted.

"If I mess it up even more, you can still cover it. It's not his face after all."

"Let him do it, Basil," Dorian called from his place. "I'll be interested to see what he comes up with. As long as he doesn't paint any warts on me!"

The artist shrugged and handed the brush to his student, albeit reluctantly.

"You do seem to have a gift for turning accidents into something that works in your favor," he admitted.

Rody grinned, taking the brush. He surveyed the three spots with narrowed eyes and a few moments later tree small dark-winged butterflies hung to the curtain where the spots had been.

"Well, now no one can say they weren't meant to be there."

Basil contemplated the effect.

"What are butterflies doing in the room?"

"It's summer, Basil, they came through the window! There's a garden outside."

"Yes, Basil!" Dorian cried. "This way we'll know it was summer!"

Basil looked at them each and sighed helplessly.

"Very well then. I can't argue with you two. Accidental butterflies it is."


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**The novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" belongs to Oscar Wilde. The 2009 movie "Dorian Gray" belongs to Momentum Pictures. I claim to be neither and I am making no profit. However, Roderick Lewin belongs to me.

**Warning:** This fic is slash. Not explicit, not dirty, but still slash. As in 'male/male romantic relationship' and not 'cutting something open'. I very much doubt that there are any Dorian Gray fans who have a big problem with that, but if by chance you happen to be offended by such things, proceed no further.

**How to read:** When you see _Basil_ or _Rody_ in _italics_ like this, it means the scene is from that character's point of view.

**Chapter**** one**

_**Juliet**_

_Basil_

I was on my way out of Harry's house. Dorian had just announced his engagement to some actress and I wasn't in the mood for more social interaction right now. That's why I wasn't entirely happy to hear hurried footsteps behind me. I was even less happy with the question that came next.

"Why exactly do you disapprove so much?"

I turned. Rody was catching up with me with his coat and hat in hand. I felt momentarily angry at him for trying to force a confession out of me. He must have suspected something already to ask me this. There was a searching look in his eyes that made me fidget nervously. I knew my feelings towards Dorian were not particularly hard to guess, especially by someone I was so close to, but that only made it more uncomfortable. I struggled to form a reply that would not be inappropriate.

"She is an actress. In a rather low-class theatre. Hardly a suitable wife for a gentleman."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Basil, I do hope this is nothing more than an excuse on your part. I'm sure there is another reason for your disapproval. I would expect this from the others but you? I never took you for a snob. You know that beauty and virtue exist on all levels of society."

I looked away, feeling chastised. It really was snobbish of me, for I would have had my prejudices against Miss Vane even without being jealous of her. I realized now that it was unfair.

"I merely think it is a rash decision to get engaged to a girl one knows so little about," I tried again.

Rody nodded, although it was clear he still thought this was not the whole story.

"That I do agree with. But it's only to be expected. They are both little more than children and therefore a little foolish. Let's just hope nothing bad comes out of it. At least we know our young friend is not one to marry for money, which I like."

I gave him a strange look. 'Our young friend'? Rody was indeed older than Dorian but not by much. His current remarks and tone of voice had suggested otherwise. In fact, he often spoke of people as if they were all children to him. I had to admit that this approach was especially amusing when it was directed at Harry. It wasn't meant to be insulting but maybe slightly condescending. He rarely acted like that towards me but when he did, it was usually for a reason. Thank God he had his own moments of pure childishness or I would have felt like the student rather than the tutor. The difference between us in years was too small to secure me authority based on older age. Especially since that hadn't even worked on Dorian who was twice as younger than me as Rody was.

We walked in silence for a few moments before Rody broke it again.

"Basil, as your friend, will you allow me to speak my mind freely, even if it is not my place? When I feel something so strongly, I simply must say it. "

"Don't you always do just that?" I said, disliking where this was going but unable to think of a way to change the course of the conversation.

He smiled.

"Indeed I do. And what I want to say is this: there are other beautiful things in this world besides Dorian Gray. You'll find something else to paint."

I shook my head.

"I don't believe I will ever have the chance to paint someone like Dorian."

"That is not what I said. No subject is like any other. But that doesn't make any of them less worthy. I think even the poppies in your garden are jealous of Dorian by now. You shouldn't hurt their feelings like that. They'll start withering. Why not paint them? They have always been so loving and obliging to you and you suddenly find them uninspiring?"

I chuckled humorlessly.

"I'm afraid I can't help it. They should find another painter and not waste their love on me. My heart has already been given away."

I almost clapped a hand over my mouth, shocked at my own frankness. I had not meant to say the words out loud. But Rody seemed unfazed as always.

"Perhaps," he said. "But love is never wasted when it's directed at someone who deserves it. The poppies picked well."

That finally dragged a smile to my lips. Rody was not one for empty compliments so I felt genuinely flattered.

"Thank you. But maybe _you_ should paint them. See if I can help you finish a picture without changing the concept halfway through. Start this afternoon? I would be delighted to spend a few quiet hours in the company of someone who does not try to dissect art just for the sake of being witty about it."

Rody flashed me a dazzling grin that almost rivaled Dorian's.

"Of course."

* * *

The next afternoon the poppies had still not turned into anything else, so that was an achievement on Rody's part.

"Enough for today, the light is fading anyway," he declared, setting the brush down. "So, any plans for the evening?"

I shrugged. He threw me a sideways glance that told me quite clearly he had been plotting something.

"Well, then… how about a night at the theatre?"

It took me a second to comprehend exactly what he was suggesting. Then I shook my head vigorously.

"Oh, come on, Basil, don't be like that! Boycotting the girl is not going to change anything. Look, if you would rather I stayed here and had dinner with you, I will. Then again, if you would rather get rid of me and stay here alone and sulk, that's your right as well. But we are supposedly Dorian's friends. And back in that room we were all being quite awful to him. Doesn't it bother you that Harry was the only one who seemed to support him? How can we disapprove of Sybil Vane without even having set eyes on her?"

I had started compulsively cleaning the brushes in order not to meet Rody's eyes. Perhaps it had been my duty as a friend to support Dorian but I wasn't sure I could do it.

"Why didn't _you_ agree to go then?" I challenged in a petty attempt to get Rody back for the discomfort he was causing me.

"Because I would feel ridiculous with Harry bashing art on one side of me and Dorian praising Sybil Vane to the Heavens on the other. I can only go if you come as well. Please? Dorian will be happy to see us there. And, to be honest, I'm curious."

At that moment I made the mistake of looking up. Rody was doing a rather good impersonation of Dorian himself, big brown eyes pleading with me. I sighed in defeat.

"Very well then."

* * *

I stopped holding my breath as Juliet finished her lines and exited the stage. I used the opportunity to quickly look around the theatre again. Dorian and Harry were still nowhere to be seen. It had troubled me greatly not to find them in the house when I knew they should have been there but the girl's performance had distracted me from my worries.

"You have to admit that she is much more than we expected," Rody whispered.

I nodded silently. She was. She was charming and beautiful and a natural talent. Despite myself, I felt my resentment melt away. There was something so touching about Sybil Vane that I found it impossible to think anything but the best of her. Creatures like this simply compelled you to love them or you would be one of the cruelest people to walk on Earth. What a charming young girl, I thought fondly. A butterfly. Capable of things mere humans could not do but not even aware of it. Offering her beauty to the world without a single thought of vanity. I had seen something similar in Dorian when I had first met him. I kept hoping it was still there.

I sighed in resignation, giving my blessing to the fragile little Juliet on stage. She was a match for my precious young friend and I had to wish them the best.

"Perhaps next time I'll be painting a family portrait," I said quietly. "They'll be beautiful together."

Rody grinned at me like he always did when he was particularly pleased with something I had said. I smiled back.

Still, my heart broke that night.

Two days later it broke again when I heard of Sybil's death.

And that would not even be the last time.

* * *

**End Note:** If you read this far you are probably at least a little interested. So why don't you tell me what you think? I would be ever so grateful.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**The novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" belongs to Oscar Wilde. The 2009 movie "Dorian Gray" belongs to Momentum Pictures. I claim to be neither and I am making no profit. However, Roderick Lewin belongs to me.

**Warning:** This fic is slash. Not explicit, not dirty, but still slash. As in 'male/male romantic relationship' and not 'cutting something open'. I very much doubt that there are any Dorian Gray fans who have a big problem with that, but if by chance you happen to be offended by such things, proceed no further.

**How to read:** When you see _Basil_ or _Rody_ in _italics_ like this, it means the scene is from that character's point of view.

**Chapter two**

_**The Artist**_

_Rody_

A gloomy London evening seeped through the windows and into the studio. Even the colours of the paints seemed duller. The few landscapes in the room looked as if they were about to change from spring to winter. I watched silently as Basil paced in front of me.

"He didn't care. He didn't care, Rody! What has Harry filled his head with? I never thought him to be cruel. I refuse to believe that a boy who holds such innocence, such charm…"

Suddenly he stopped and stared at me.

"You said you wanted to corner Harry and learn exactly what had happened," he said slowly.

I nodded.

"Did you do it?"

Another nod.

"Was… Was Dorian involved in Sybil's suicide?"

I hesitated.

"He was, but…"

Basil was looking at me in complete horror. I searched for the right kind of explanation.

"I'm quite sure he meant nothing like this to happen. He acted inappropriately, she got upset… She was carrying his child but he didn't know that. If he had known, I think he would have acted otherwise. I do believe he really meant to marry her. It was all a rather tragic result from a boy's foolishness and a girl's fragility. And, Basil, I really think Harry was only trying to console him in his own way. I'm afraid all of us really do not understand each other very well."

He picked up one of the early sketches of Dorian and surveyed it gravely.

"Oh, Dorian… He needs help, this isn't him."

"Maybe it is. Maybe we just don't know him," I suggested quietly.

"No! That's what Harry says but it's simply an excuse for his own actions! Dorian was innocent before he met him!"

I shook my head.

"Innocence is overrated, Basil."

He looked up from the sketch, eyes full of accusation.

"Now you sound like Harry too. That's the last thing I need."

"No, please, hear me out. Innocence is just another word for ignorance and the problem with innocent minds like Dorian's is that they often learn to see and acknowledge nothing outside of their own little world. Children are innocent and children can be very cruel. They are easily influenced and they don't fully realize what they are doing. I don't think Harry realizes just how bad his influence is either. Like you yourself said, he doesn't believe half of what he says. He can't imagine someone else would believe every word and take it literally. So if you don't blame Dorian, you can't blame Harry. Or you should blame them both."

"I blame myself," Basil sighed, replacing the sketch to its original place and dropping tiredly in the chair next to me. "If Dorian was so easily influenced, then why was _I_ not the one to influence him? I was his first friend here and I have wished nothing but the best for him, yet my opinions are so easily ignored, my warnings laughed upon… I realize people consider me boring and maybe no one thinks anything of me except to praise my art once in a while but…"

"Basil! Now _you_ are being a child! Dorian isn't everyone. I consider you anything but boring and your art is the least about you that deserves praise. However, I do believe you are becoming obsessed. And I would feel quite useless as a friend if I didn't try to put an end to it. Why is Dorian Gray suddenly the center of the world? He is beautiful, there is no doubt about that but what else besides his looks makes you adore him so? He has never done much good to you or anyone else! And I don't want to hear about him taking your art to a new level because even if it's true, he didn't exactly have to try hard to do that. And while I don't have much against him either, I feel that the sympathy he receives from you is undeserved. Is this the price of being a great artist? You start believing in beauty above all else and truth and love are pushed to the background? If that is so, then I am glad I will never be as good as you, Basil, because aesthetics isn't everything!"

By the time I had finished my speech my voice had risen quite a bit. Basil was looking at me as if I had slapped him.

"Is that what you really think of me?" he asked in a strained voice. "That I have no substance, that I…"

"No," I assured him more gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have plenty of substance. But does Dorian? Has it crossed your mind that perhaps he doesn't deserve you? Open your eyes, Basil. That portrait of him that you painted was exceptional because of you, not him. It was your skill, your feelings, your passion put down on the canvas. He is nothing without his worshippers but you are someone and have always been, even when no one had seen or appreciated your talent yet. When people look at that picture, it is your beauty they see, not his. They may not know it, but you should."

I paused, contemplating whether I should continue with what I had in mind. But Basil was still looking unconvinced and I was determined to use everything I had to prove my point. I picked up my sketchbook and flipped through it.

"Do you know what I was doing while you painted Dorian? You'll laugh when you see it but I guess that's better than watching you beat yourself over the head in Dorian's and Harry's place."

I reached the page I wanted, tore it and handed it to him. It took him a moment to make sense of the whole thing because there were birds and butterflies and poppies and even random shapes drawn hastily in the corners. But in the center of it all was Basil Hallward, painting a picture. It was probably the best sketch I had ever done. Which maybe did not say much, but it was at least recognizable. He stared at it, then looked at me, opened his mouth to say something, closed it and looked at the picture again.

"It's… rather good," he managed finally.

I laughed. Dear Basil! He had never seen himself on the other side of art and he was genuinely surprised that someone would find him inspiring.

"Thank you," I said. "But that's not the point. The point is that sometimes the world should revolve around Basil Hallward for a change. Forget about what Dorian thinks or feels or wants or is doing wrong. Forget about Harry. Forget about me. Forget about all of us. Think about yourself for once. This very evening. Do something that will make you feel better. Because I can't and Dorian won't and Harry doesn't even know that he should."

I stood up, picking my things.

"Now I wish you goodnight and I hope that it will really be a good one."

I gave his shoulder a final squeeze and left him alone, wondering if he was making any conclusions from what I had said and shown him. Had it been a bit too much under the circumstances? I didn't want to make things more complicated than they already were. But it had all been meant to make him feel better. I hoped he wouldn't spend the evening worrying about my words instead...

As it turned out, he had found a much better way to spend it. When I returned the next day, he had started a new portrait. Sybil Vane.

* * *

**End Note:** See that little review button? Click on it and magic will happen – you will acquire the wonderful ability to tell me your opinion! Try it!


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**The novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" belongs to Oscar Wilde. The 2009 movie "Dorian Gray" belongs to Momentum Pictures. I claim to be neither and I am making no profit. However, Roderick Lewin belongs to me.

**Warning:** This fic is slash. Not explicit, not dirty, but still slash. As in 'male/male romantic relationship' and not 'cutting something open'. I very much doubt that there are any Dorian Gray fans who have a big problem with that, but if by chance you happen to be offended by such things, proceed no further.

**How to read:** When you see _Basil_ or _Rody_ in _italics_ like this, it means the scene is from that character's point of view.

**Chapter three**

_**Hands**_

_Basil_

My hands shook as I hung the scarf around my throat again. The feel of his lips lingered on mine and my skin burned where his fingers had been.

But it all tasted bitter. I had experienced something I had not thought possible outside my wildest dreams but it had been fake.

I had known from the very beginning that he was only doing it to shut me up. That there was no real feeling behind it. And still, I had been unable to resist. I cursed my own weakness and yet I could not bring myself to curse him. In spite of toying with me, in spite of his cruelty towards everyone… It was I who was the fool, I who had let myself become so dominated. And I had never felt so empty. Perhaps that was my punishment for not sticking to my art, for wanting more.

I made my way through the crowd of Dorian's intoxicated guests. I exited the house and stopped at the front steps, trying to breathe. A few moments later the door opened and closed behind me. I didn't turn. I wasn't even sure I wanted it to be Dorian.

"Are you all right?"

The question was so gentle and loaded with so much hidden meaning that my heart froze in my chest. I turned to glance at Rody's face and my suspicions were confirmed. He knew. I could tell that he knew. Perhaps he had even seen. I could feel my face flush.

I briefly considered leaving to spare myself the embarrassment but what was the point? And maybe there was a tiny hope in me that talking to Rody would somehow make me feel better. After all, he had managed it before. Either way, I doubted I could feel worse.

I shook my head in answer to his question. I was not all right and that was so obvious that lying about it would be ridiculous.

Ignoring his fancy suit, he sat down on the steps and, after a brief hesitation, I followed his example.

"Don't make too much of it, Basil. I'm with Harry here – every experience is a value, at least as long as we learn something from it."

The calmness and understanding in his voice were such an unexpected blessing under these circumstances that I almost kissed him. I pushed it down. It was exactly irrational impulses like this that had gotten me where I was. I wasn't even sure about my own emotions anymore, let alone anyone else's. Dorian had messed everything up. Which was love? Which was admiration? Which was obsession? Or was it all simply lust, as Harry would have said? I would not allow Rody to get mixed into it all.

I closed my eyes briefly, then stood up.

"I need a walk. I have to clear my head."

He nodded.

"I presume you want to be alone?"

I hesitated. I knew I should say yes but some part of me was terrified of being left alone, almost as much as the rest of me wanted to get away from everyone. "Actually, I wouldn't mind some company," I said finally, offering my hand to help him up.

He took it with his usual grin. I held on to his hand for a second too long before remembering myself and letting go. If he had noticed, he made no indication. Side by side, we walked down the street.

* * *

_Rody_

We talked about everything that night. Dorian. Basil's art. My art. My father, whom I missed too much. Harry and Victoria and their future child.

On the topic of Dorian, I could not tell if Basil had decided he could trust me or if he had simply concluded that I already knew everything he could tell me. Or maybe the need to talk to someone, _anyone_, had become too great and I was simply the only person there. I wanted the first to be true, I knew the second probably was and I hoped the third wasn't the case.

We were in front of Dorian's house again when he stopped.

"Thank you for the company, Rody. Have a safe trip home."

"Aren't you going home as well? I could walk you," I offered, reluctant to leave him.

"No, not quite yet. I need to talk to Dorian. About… about the portrait. I need it for that exhibition."

It was a poor lie and we both knew it. But maybe he really needed to confront Dorian once and for all. It would be better than leaving things hanging in the air.

I nodded reluctantly.

"Very well. Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

"Basil… Tomorrow at the studio?"

"As always."

Moments later the door opened and he walked into the house.

I couldn't understand why, but for a moment I got the feeling that this was the last time I would see him.

* * *

**End Note:** I must really beg you this time since this is the last chapter and your last chance to review. If you want the sequel uploaded fast, please, give me some feedback and, if possible, be thorough about it. Comment on things, don't just say 'I love it' or 'I hate it'. Thank you!


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